


Snow Globe

by pyrchance



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Current era, M/M, Reunion Era, introspective smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrchance/pseuds/pyrchance
Summary: Maybe all that he’s learned over the years is patience though. He lies awake for at least an hour, scowling with his eyes closed, before he hears the creak of the bunk beneath his. He waits until the creaking resolves itself into the hiss of a curtain being pulled open and the shuffle of feet.Finally.Frank opens his eyes and slips out of bed.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 26
Kudos: 86





	Snow Globe

Frank is getting too old for busses, even shiny new ones that the label springs for them.

It is nice to be able to shuffle his way out of bed in the morning and not having to worry if the shitty fridge that won’t stay closed has spilled his leftovers all over the floor again. It’s nice to have a lounge with a functional gaming system and a couch that doesn’t leave him walking funny if he accidentally falls asleep. The backroom is even a space the band is willing to walk into, outfitted with a pullout sofa and some kind of magical air freshener that leaves the whole room smelling laundered. It’s nice to have nice things. That doesn’t mean Frank enjoys living on a bus again.

He rolls around his bunk, punching his pillow for about the millionth time. Maybe the mattress is too nice. He’d like to think he’s still punk enough to have a reaction like that, even if he knows his wife keeps their linen closet stocked with billion-count sheets.

Frank doesn’t like thinking about home when he can’t be there though. There’s no point. It’s distracting and it always hurts, like pressing on a bruise. It’s another fantasy of Frank’s that he has gotten better over the years at avoiding that which it painful to him.

Maybe all that he’s learned over the years is patience though. He lies awake for at least an hour, scowling with his eyes closed, before he hears the creak of the bunk beneath his. He waits until the creaking resolves itself into the hiss of a curtain being pulled open and the shuffle of feet.

 _Finally_. Frank opens his eyes and slips out of bed.

The door to the backroom has been left open for him. Gerard is standing in the middle of the room, one hand braced on a cabinet and one hand digging into his eyes as Frank walks in. He must hear the door click and lock because he turns and doesn’t look the least surprised to see Frank standing there.

“You should be asleep,” Gerard says, turning back around like if he can’t see Frank maybe he’ll disappear. Frank is more persistent than that though. He creeps around Gerard, sidling up to his back and standing on his tiptoes until he can press his nose into Gerard’s shoulder.

“Headache?” he asks.

Gerard doesn’t shake him off. He doesn’t turn to look at him either. “I forgot how small the bunks are. It feels like I’m being suffocated in there.”

“That’s the road, Gee,” Frank laughs softly, winding his fingers into the hand Gerard has pressed against his temple. Their fingers just fit together. Frank has always thought so. It’s a shame they’ve never really held hands. Not in the real way.

He squeezes Gerard’s hand now. “Come on. Lemme fight this bad boy for you.”

“You can’t fight my head,” Gerard says.

“Please. I’ve studied brain stew for years. I know a few tricks.”

Gerard doesn’t pull away from him as Frank tugs him towards the couch, even if his mouth is thin. He goes when Frank pushes him, and then Frank scrambles up to sit on the back of the couch, bracketing Gerard between his knees. He sinks nails into Gerard’s grown-out hair, hiding his own little breath as Gerard makes a gravelly noise from deep within his chest and relaxes for the first time in days. Frank rakes his fingers through Gerard’s hair carefully, wary of tangles, counting the new lines of silver amidst the brown he’s never had a chance to play with before. There have been so many colors through the years. Somehow brown is the one Frank has never known.

At least the sheen of grease is familiar. Frank sucks up his smart remarks and presses the calloused pads of his fingers into Gerard’s temples, massaging in hard, steady circles. Gerard makes a sound like he’s been kicked and leans back into his hands. Frank keeps his fingers on the bruise and digs in.

Across the back lounge, someone has left a curtain parted. They aren’t far enough into the tour yet that Frank has forgotten where they are. He knows if he studies the outside, or better yet climbs up to the roof, the whole of middle America would spread out before him like some impossible green sea. The world never looks real outside of windows. It’s like it all the stars have been been captured under a snow-globe night sky. When the wind rolls through this part of the world it carries warm dirt and promises for miles and miles. It drives Frank crazy. Makes him want to grab the sky by the globe and shake it.

He settles for slowly reaching down and grabbing a fist full of Gerard’s hair, right at the nape. Gerard tenses all through his chest, but when Frank tugs Gerard comes with him, tilting his head back until he has no choice but to see Frank’s smile.

“I like the hair,” he admits, tensing his fist a fraction more and watching the corners of Gerard’s eyes tighten. “It’s nice to have a little something to hold onto.”

“Yours is long again too,” Gerard points out. His casual tone brakes when Frank lets his other hand drift down and rest, barely pressing, just beneath his throat.

Frank shrugs. “I’m not the one the kids look at like Jesus.”

He lets the hand against Gerard’s neck scrape barely-there nails over his collar bone. Gerard is wearing an old, broken-in sweatshirt covered in stains and little holes. It’s easy to slip under the collar and trace the bit of flesh just there.

If this were ten years ago, this would be about the point that Gerard would twist in his grip like an angry cat and takes his own swipe. This would be the moment when Frank would end up on his knees or shoved against a stack of amps or down onto a dirty floor. But this is not ten years ago. Today, Gerard doesn’t even relax his shoulders. He just holds still, so still, like he’s made of porcelain and not the twisted steel and glass Frank’s always known.

“We don’t do this anymore,” Gerard whispers and his eyes are closed like maybe that will help him disappear.

“We’re doing it right now,” says Frank.

“We shouldn’t.”

“But we will.”

Frank speaks this truth into the universe and holds his breath as he waits for Gerard to strike it down. Gerard’s always been the eye in the sky, the prophet drenched in visions. His will has been known to strike like lightning and Frank’s been burned before.

But…not this time. This time, Gerard’s eyes slit open and come to rest on Frank and _there_ is the spark Frank has been anticipating all night. Gerard still stares at him exactly like he knows he’s the one wielding all the power.

He doesn’t move when Frank carefully climbs back down off the sofa and folds himself into Gerard’s lap. They’re both bigger than they used to be, more solid. When Frank presses his palms against Gerard’s chest there’s never a fear that he’ll vanish like the air beneath him.

And Gerard is already half-hard against him. Frank can feel the press of him against his own erection as he settles firmly into Gerard’s lap, legs spread wide over Gerard’s thighs. He does an experimental little wiggle, just to see what Gerard does, and is gratified when Gerard’s hands jump to clasp his thighs.

“I could suck you off,” Frank whispers, leaning in close until his teeth scrape the shell of Gerard’s ear. “Or you could fuck me. I’m clean. I’ve got condoms. Come on, Gee. Come on. What do you want?”

“Shut up,” snaps Gerard. Two hands come up to stop Frank, pushing him backward. Gerard’s face, when Frank sits back, is nothing of the confident task-master Frank remembers. No. The face Gerard wears now is an older one. One Frank hasn’t seen since before even My Chem. Back when Frank was the only one on stage and Gerard was just Mikey Way’s weird older brother hanging around in the background.

It doesn’t matter. Frank doesn’t care. There isn’t a face in the world that Gerard could make that Frank doesn’t know.

He switches gears. “Or _you_ could suck me off,” he purrs, and he presses back against those hands holding him back. He’s going to make Gerard feel the weight of him. “Or maybe you want to eat me out, huh? We haven’t done that one in _years_ , Gee. My ass still remembers you, you know.”

Gerard’s face is deliciously pink under his beard. Frank can’t help himself. He pushes hard against Gerard’s hands until they fold. Then he leans in and presses his lips against Gerard’s in what feels like their first real kiss in years.

Frank makes it _filthy_ too. He wants to give Gerard that reminder. Wants to make him think about all the places Frank’s tongue as been before. He wants to pull back and spit in Gerard’s face. To pry open his jaw and eat at his tongue in the open air, but Gerard’s always been too fussy for that.

What he can do instead is slip his fingers beneath Gerard’s hoodie and find his nipples warm and soft inside. And he can roll those warm and soft nipples between his thumb and forefinger, before clamping down so tight and twisting until Gerard makes a noise like he’s being shot against Frank’s mouth. And Frank can take that second to latch onto to Gerard’s lower lip like an attack dog, grinding his teeth into the soft flesh while yanking down hard on his nipples until it’s Gerard who is jerking in his grip, pulling to get away from the grip on his tits just to find himself pinned by the teeth in his lip.

It’s only when Gerard goes limp under him that Frank lets go, smoothing his palms against Gerard’s chest and feeling the heat there. He licks at Gerard’s swollen lip too, feeling a bit like one of his dogs begging for a treat.

“Jesus, Frank,” breathes Gerard in shudders. His eyes are blown wide, almost spooked, like he forgot Frank just how good Frank could be. Frank’s determined to remind him.

“Or I could eat _you_ out,” Frank says, as if the conversation never dropped. “I bet your ass remembers me too.”

Gerard makes a noise deep down in his throat. Frank doesn’t know what that means until he feels hands grab his ass and drag him forward. And _that’s_ a plan, isn’t it? Frank lets Gerard rut against him like they’re teenagers again, even though they were never teenagers together. He lets the years of distance shrink as Gerard rolls his hips against Frank’s like there was never any space between them.

At least for a second.

Frank can tell by the way Gerard’s eyes are squeezing that he’s already too worked up, and frankly, Frank has better plans than just grinding a quick one out.

He plants his palms back on Gerard’s shoulders and then lifts his hips. He gets to watch the delightful little sight of Gerard humping the air for two seconds, head tilted back, eyes closed, before he seems to realize Frank’s no longer there. When he opens his eyes again, they’re dark, nearly betrayed.

“Lube,” Frank reminds him. “Condom.”

Gerard just blinks.

“Come on, Gee. I told you I came prepared. Lemme up so I can get my shit.”

With obvious reluctance, Gerard’s hands release him. Frank shimmies out of his lap, ignoring the way his back pops when he stands up. Getting fucking old sucks.

He leverages a finger at Gerard as he goes. “I’m not fucking you with your clothes on. Strip ‘em.”

He turns around before he can see how this command goes over. Modesty and clothing have always been a big hit or miss with Gerard. But Frank means what he says. He’s not doing this if he’s the only one getting naked.

In an overhead bin, Frank keeps a small duffle full of what he calls his ‘sick pack.’ In the front pocket, amongst his cough drops and herbal teas, he finds the supplies he was looking for and zips the rest back up.

When he turns back around, Gerard has barely moved. His pants are unbuckled and wrapped around his ankles, but his hoodie and boxers are both still on. Frank rolls his eyes when he sees the way Gerard is carefully not looking at him, as if Frank didn’t spend his formative years watching Gerard lose his guts to toilet bowls and reeking like Satan’s ass crack. As if there was anything ugly they hadn’t already seen in each other. Still, Frank is not always an asshole. He just points his fingers back at Gerard’s boxers and tuts.

“Houston, we have a problem.”

“Would you just get back over here?” Gerard asks, shifting. Frank doesn’t really get the sense of modesty. It’s not like Frank can’t see his cock standing at full attention from all the way over here. If anything, trying to keep it hidden is just like waving a big _look here_ flag for Frank.

“I know what your dick looks like, Gee,” Frank says, well, frankly. “Come on. I bet it wants to say hi.”

Gerard’s face instantly sours. “Please don’t personify my dick.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t keep the poor dude under lock and key. You weren’t wearing a chastity belt the last time I looked.”

“You’re still doing it.”

“Yeah, well, someone hasn’t come out to play yet either.”

Frank crosses his arms and makes a show of pouting, until Gerard finally sighs and cracks and hooks two thumbs under his boxers, pushing them down to his knees. Gerard’s dick sways with the motion so Frank takes the opportunity to uncross his arms and wave back, which maybe is not the best move to make given the look Gerard sends him.

“My turn,” Frank says, and throws his shirt at Gerard the second he gets it over his head. He takes advantage of Gerard’s squawk to quickly strip out of his pajama pants and boxers too, climbing back into Gerard’s lap just as Gerard has freed himself from the wayward clothing.

It is so, so, so much better with skin and skin. Gerard’s grown somehow even more pasty pale under his pants than he used to be. Frank makes a mental note to send him a pair of short shorts for Christmas. It’s not like he couldn’t use them in California.

Their cocks bump as Frank settles back into Gerard’s lap. Gerard hisses, but Frank doesn’t take the initiative. He dumps his supplies on the couch next to them, then picks up the lube and then Gerard’s hand. Frank uncurls Gerard’s fingers enough to press the bottle into his palm.

“Get me wet for you, yeah?” Frank asks, grinning in delight as Gerard’s face pinks again.

Gerard’s fingers close over the lube, but the look he gives Frank is still not the same demanding, bitch-in-charge expression Frank is more accustom to. Somehow, the years apart have made him shy. Frank’s okay with it.

“You do want to fuck me, don’t you?” Frank asks, all innocent teasing.

Gerard makes another sour face and glares at him. “You’re not easy to reach like this,” he complains.

“Yeah, well—“ Frank snatches the bottle from Gerard again, coming up with an even more wicked idea and pouring a liberal amount over both of their fingers. “I’ll help.”

“What?”

Frank grins. “Come on, Gee. Hold my hand.”

He takes Gerard’s slippery fingers in his own and tugs them down between their bodies. Gerard’s not _wrong_ exactly. Sitting on someone’s lap isn’t the _easiest_ position to be fingered in. But it’s worth it when he drags their twisted hands down behind his cock and presses Gerard’s fingers against his hole.

He makes sure Gerard’s fingers can feel it when Frank takes one of his own fingers and pushes it inside himself. Gerard’s face is something to behold. Almost better than that initial moment of penetration.

Frank’s always been too impatient to finger himself often, but he likes it. He likes when other people do it to him. And he likes the way Gerard is watching him now, and the feeling of Gerard’s fingers still against his hand as he works that first finger inside himself properly and gives a few probing thrusts.

“Fuck,” Gerard mutters. “Frank.”

Frank grins wider. “You want to give me a hand there, friend? It sort of feels like I’m the one doing all the work here.”

Gerard’s chin drips down. Frank can see the sweat gathering on his forehead as Gerard’s eyes lock onto the space between their legs. Frank doesn’t think he can really _see_ anything though.

But he must be able to feel it. Frank twitches as Gerard’s fingers slide off his hand come to touch where Frank’s finger disappears into his hole. They both shudder as Frank slowly thrusts into himself, somehow much more intimate with the sensation of Gerard’s fingers feeling him push in and out.

“Do another,” Gerard demands.

Frank blinks, his vision having grown blurred for a moment as he focused in on the sensations. He stops thrusting for a second, then nods. “Give me more lube then.”

Gerard doesn’t hesitate to fish for the bottle as Frank gingerly removes his finger and holds out his hand. Gerard gives him a generous heaping of lube, which Frank quickly shoves back down between his legs, not trying to lose any.

“Wait, wait,” Gerard says quickly, tossing aside the bottle and hurriedly slipping his own hand between Frank’s legs. His fingers find Frank’s again as Frank slows down. Gerard’s hand shadows his hand before Frank slowly pushes two wet fingers back into his hole.

It’s Frank’s turn to make a noise now. It’s been long enough just the jump from one to two seems a stretch. Gerard’s fingers linger against his hole as Frank slowly twists them inside, having trouble getting them as far as he wants with the angle.

“Scissor yourself,” Gerard adds, voice husky and low. And yes, there is the hint of demand Frank’s come to expect.

He shivers as he obeys, slowly spreading his fingers out inside of himself. The walls inside are just as plush and soft as he remembers. The ring of muscles around his fingers hasn’t loosened.

He tenses when he feels the press of a third finger against his hole far, far too early. Gerard is teasing him though. Just barely pressing his finger between the place where Frank’s fingers meet and slip inside him.

When he finally presses in, Frank is still far too tight for it. The stretch burns, and not altogether in the nice way. Frank hisses, screwing up his face, but Gerard barely pauses before continuing his push forward.

“Goddamn it,” Frank hisses, bending over and planting his face in Gerard’s sweatshirt. He lets his fist pound against Gerard’s chest. “That fucking burns, you asshole.”

“I thought you wanted me to pull my own weight around here,” Gerard replies, unapologetic and definitely smirking.

Frank would for sure curse him out, except that that is the moment Gerard reaches down with his _other_ hand, takes Frank’s wrists, and pushes Frank’s fingers as far up his own ass as they can go.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Frank breathes.

It’s the sensation of three fingers up his ass, only two of which he owns, that’s messing with his head. Gerard’s finger works against Frank’s inside, first tracing the seem between them before slowly pushing them apart from inside, forcing Frank to spread his fingers and stretch himself against the burn.

Meanwhile, his other hand keeps Frank’s wrist unnaturally twisted to force his fingers deep inside. There’s no thrusting except for the little baby movements Gerard insists on, pressing against Frank’s hand and then releasing the pressure without letting go, giving just the barest impression of a thrust.

Frank’s fingers hit his prostate first, thanks to Gerard forcing them deep, but Gerard is quick to join him there. He presses against Frank’s fingers, forcing Frank to dig into his own prostate, still applying those tiny thrusts with _just_ enough friction to keep Frank panting against Gerard’s sweatshirt.

He could come like this. He most definitely could come like this. But like Frank said before, he wants more than just a quick base hit. He wants a whole damn home run.

“Gerard. Gerard,” pants Frank, patting at Gerard’s chest with his free hand until Gerard looks up.

“What, Frankie?” Gerard asks, almost annoyed. Frank ignores how the old diminutive rolls over him.

“Dress up time,” Frank says, jerking his chin at the condom abandoned on the couch by the lube. Gerard’s eyes light up.

That doesn’t really help Frank, who winces when Gerard finally removes his finger. He keeps his own two fingers nestled inside, thrusting aimlessly as he watches Gerard fumble with the condom wrapper through lubed fingers.

Finally giving up, Gerard rips it open with his teeth, spitting the scrap away and quickly rolling the condom on. Frank lets his fingers slip out of his ass finally then, lifting up on his knees until he can get in the right position.

Sinking down is like Christmas, exciting and nostalgic all at once. It’s the noise Gerard makes that wakes him up. He opens his eyes and blinks down, immediately catching Gerard’s star-bright eyes. Frank dips down, kissing him as he settles himself fully on Gerard’s dick. The kiss is a surprisingly gentle thing between them. They part from it shiny and breathless but not even bruised.

It’s Frank who sets the rhythm. The burn sets into his thighs too quick, but it’s worth it. It’s really fucking worth it to feel this again.

Again. Again. Again. Everything is familiar. Everything feels like coming home. Frank doesn’t ever want to leave this space where he and Gerard are one again. Doesn’t want to let the cool distance creep between them.

Gerard seems to think so too. Frank feels a hand tangle in the back of his hair and then he’s being pulled down as they fuck until their foreheads are pressed together and their sweat marries.

He has to keep his eyes open, even when Gerard begins thrusting back in time with him, meeting Frank halfway and fucking him all the harder. He needs to know that this is Gerard with him. He needs to know which one.

“God, Frank,” Gerard bites out. “God, you’re so fucking—“

Gerard cuts off with a groan, but Frank wants to know what he was going to say.

“I’m so what?”

“How did I get this?” Gerard asks again. Only he would ask that question while both of them are shaky with exertion, neither twenty and pliable anymore, both out of practice. Gerard’s thumb strokes the back of Frank’s neck.

“Get what?”

“You.”

Frank doesn’t quite get the way Gerard is looking at him in that moment. It’s not the shock and awe of their early first encounters or the broiling tug-of-war of their later years. Gerard is looking at him the way they look at each other in the morning. They way they look when they have nothing left to hide.

Frank shakes his head. Their pace is slowing. Frank is slowing it. He wants to hear this, whatever this is. Hips slow from thrusting to a gentle roll. Gerard doesn’t look away from him.

“You’ve always had me,” Frank says, smiling because that’s true. That’s always been true. At least for him. “You know that.”

“Do I?” Gerard asks.

“You should. There’s always been me for you.”

Gerard shakes his head. “There’s always been someone else,” he replies.

“Yes,” says Frank. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.”

The slow pace uncoils something inside him. They keep fucking like that, even after they both fall silent. It’s not frenzied, like they’re in a hurry. It’s not even sloppy, like they’ve both had too much to drink. Frank thinks if he closed his eyes he might wake up in a proper bed with real sheets, not even the hotel kind. He wonders if this Gerard would have held his hand. That’s the sort of feeling the slow press of Gerard inside of him is rising.

He knows Gerard can feel it too. Frank slips and buries his face in Gerard’s neck and Gerard’s hand keeps him there, threaded through his hair as their hips roll into each other. When Gerard finally reaches down and touches him, it’s hot and sticky, but it feels more like an ache forming deep under Frank’s skin than any thing else. It hurts when his climax finally hits him. Not a sharp, sudden pain, but something purple that rolls through him in waves.

Gerard makes it just a few thrusts after. He’s never loud when he comes, but his breath hitches, short fingernails scraping the back of Frank’s scalp.

When it’s done, Frank is over sensitive. He pulls off wincing, rolling over onto the couch and leaning his head back as the sweat cools on his skin. He doesn’t look up as Gerard gets rid of the condom. He doesn’t even look up as the door the backroom opens and he knows Gerard has walked out.

Bruises, all under his skin. Frank has always like to press on them.

Frank is still sitting there, feeling sorry for himself, when the door opens. He looks up. Gerard stands in the doorway in his boxers and hoodie, holding a washcloth. Frank’s surprise must be written all over his face because Gerard just shrugs.

“I never thought I’d miss actual showers, you know?”

The tension breaks. Frank snorts, sitting up as Gerard crosses the room back over to him, tucking one leg underneath himself as he sits down.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Frank teases.

He holds his hand out for the washcloth, but Gerard ignores him, beginning to wipe Frank down himself with the careful ministrations of someone who is used to making fine details with their hands.

When he’s done, Gerard tosses the washcloth away, the slob, and retrieves Frank’s clothes. Franks dresses without really getting up and Gerard doesn’t either. He just opens his arms and smiles when Frank grins, immediately jumping the into offering and snuggling into Gerard’s side.

Gerard’s fingers come almost immediately to his hair again, twisting in the strands. “It really has gotten long again.”

Frank tilts his head back, letting Gerard do this for him. It isn’t what they do. Not at all. Not for a long time. 

He opens his eyes and lifts the curtain behind his head, staring for a second at the dark landscape blurring outside.

If the world really were a snow globe, could he just pick it up and shake it until the good parts started over?

Frank isn’t sure. He draws his head away from the window and presses his nose into the nape of Gerard’s neck. Gerard’s hands curl into him, not letting go.

Frank’s world shakes.

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder that you can find me over on tumblr @ [pyrchance](https://pyrchance.tumblr.com).


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